“Oh, monsieur, why should we continue this farce?” cried the doctor excitedly. “I see you have no doubt that my patient is in reality your friend, Count Mortimer——”
Cyril bowed smilingly. “You are very kind, to endow me with a new name,” he said.
“And nothing would please me better than to resign him to your care at once,” the doctor went on; “but how could I reconcile it with my conscience? You have no authority—you are not a relation. If he had even recognised you”—his little black eyes were on Cyril’s face—“but I cannot surrender him to a stranger.”
“That is so,” agreed Mr Hicks, wondering what this portended.
“If only you could bring his wife here; but you say she is dangerously ill at Vindobona——”
Mr Hicks saw Cyril start slightly, very slightly, and interposed hastily. “Not dangerously ill, doctor; you mistook me. In fact, when she hears I have found her husband, I think she will be well at once. As you say, the best thing will be to bring her here. But she could scarcely arrive in less than a week, for she must travel slowly.”
“If his Excellency will continue to put up with our poor quarters here for that time——”
“By all means,” said Cyril, with a whimsical smile. “But you place me in a curious position, gentlemen. You propose to bring a charming lady—of course she is charming—who is good enough to say that she is my wife, to take care of me. Well and good; the lady and I can but see one another, and the decision will lie with her, naturally. The state of affairs is quite interesting.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr Hicks, anxious to disarm any suspicion in the doctor’s mind, “it might be well for the Queen to remain in this house for a day or two before taking her husband away. You would then see whether there was any hope of his recognising her——”
“Or any fear of a recurrence of violence,” said the doctor.